Your Character's Name: Virgil Bates If found return to Virgil C. Bates Esq. Read a notebook in my pack and was more than a little troubled. It started with a strange line (“Beware Cephalis”?) and became more cryptic. I like riddles, but the ravings of a madman are worrisome when that madman is oneself. -To-Do List: Find Non-Imaginary Friends for sanity. -Still looking for wife. Retrace steps? -Check pants daily. Not the pockets, the pants. Wearing any?
Because that is my most recent memory, waking up in a puddle to find myself devoid of any bearing as to where I was, clueless as to my general actions for the last few decades including where I had acquired a wedding band, and utterly trouser-less.
Met some people today! A woman who set her attack bear on me (cleverly evaded) and a man lurking in a tree (who hides in a tree?). Woman was ruled out as my possible-wife immediately, on account of her liking animals. The woman is very quiet, how long has she been away from civilization with only a bear to converse with? Man is cold, pragmatic survivor (borderline psychopath).I get the feeling that whereas the woman has seen little to none of humanity, this man has seen far too much. Oh some orphan boy too, creepy, might grow on me. I asked him where he came from but the lad didn’t even know his name. The last human contact I remember having was decades ago. They’ve got shreds. They could use someone to look out for them and I could use someone to talk to
Found a depressing building that stunk of grease and oil. Mercury creeps over as I watch his back. That stunning setting sun sure does take me back. I remember a similar outing with my old friends, Victor Vladquest, Grokthrakk: Barbarian king of Seattle, Brewnuar BulletHaver, and V.R. Victor and I had gone in to a similar building get a document. Inside the Horsemen Initiate caved after, a short roughing-up, but we got a slip of paper instead of a collection of maps, which wasn’t how I remembered this memory.
“He doesn’t have shred. You do it, hokay?” Victor’s accent was thick. My vision swimming I squeeze the trigger of my handgun in the Horseman's general direction.
Opening my eyes I see I have missed both times. Victor draws a knife across the helpless man's throat. "Don't waste bullets", he chides. Victor later lies and says that I killed the Horseman. I cannot decide if he is trying to protect me from the horror of killing a man or just stockpiling dirt to control me. Either way, with the kill I should be in, a full-fledged member.
We were huddled in a Wal-mart when V.R. explained it to me. “There were those left in this world with a shred and those without. The Horsemen’s ideology is the annihilation of mankind. The murder of every individual left. I’ve talked to one, he said that the world is doomed and that he might as well be on the winning side, that he was the fire of Ragnarokk, that life didn’t matter. So I killed him right there. To protect everyone he would ever meet again.” I was beginning question this gang I had hitched my wagon to. “They have each professed plans to become professional purveyors of genocide for no better reason then the want to. The feeling. I have seen so many die for nothing.” He had known I had never killed a man and had picked that man to be my first, unarmed and convenient, to get me ready for more gray areas. I heard V.R. came from Emerald City. He projected authority, competence, and morality, but I had overheard him calling individuals “NPC’s” and Horsemen “XP”. This man living in a fantasy world was leading us through these wastes. “We can’t save every tree”, V.R.’s eyes radiated conviction. “We are tasked with saving the forest. You proved yourself capable today. Will you help me save the world?” When it’s put to you like that, how can you say no?
I later found that “shred” meant, “shred of human decency”. These were the ones we were saving. The rest? V.R. said you can’t make a cake without breaking a few eggs. All this thought of cake was making me hungry. Famished, I found myself out of sorts and someplace new. Mercury Steele had been talking to me for a while. The gist was “go in first.” I noticed my scythe was drenched in blood. Mercury said it had “come like that.” Was he protecting me from the mental trauma from inadvertently killing a man – a la “The Wolfman” – or just trying to use me? Truth be told I liked him either way. These were my friends, even if they might not think of me that way. I was the most expendable. The depression from having killed again weighed heavy and I was already making a bee-line toward death when Mercury reminded me that my wife could be in there. My Wife. The whole reason I wandered this hellscape for god-knows how long. In the back, in some offices, I witnessed the hideous face of death. It was covered in saggy folds that couldn’t be skin, with eyes were akin to those of a potato; was dressed in something even a clown wouldn’t be seen in public in. Its hair was untidy at best. I had hoped this was my wife? It saw me. I had been afraid my wife had moved on, or was dead, or was entirely fictitious. Nothing I had imagined was as bad as this. It started croaking out in Pig-Latin or whatever mutants speak. Too much adventure for one day. I fled. But the thing started running after me, but the horrible call fell on deaf ears. All of us left together. With friends like these, I could cry, and I do, quietly at night so they don’t think less of me. I’m a father figure now (again?).
I check my trousers and beware Cephalis a little before going to bed.
If found return to Virgil C. Bates Esq.
Read a notebook in my pack and was more than a little troubled. It started with a strange line (“Beware Cephalis”?) and became more cryptic. I like riddles, but the ravings of a madman are worrisome when that madman is oneself.
-To-Do List: Find Non-Imaginary Friends for sanity.
-Still looking for wife. Retrace steps?
-Check pants daily. Not the pockets, the pants. Wearing any?
Because that is my most recent memory, waking up in a puddle to find myself devoid of any bearing as to where I was, clueless as to my general actions for the last few decades including where I had acquired a wedding band, and utterly trouser-less.
Met some people today! A woman who set her attack bear on me (cleverly evaded) and a man lurking in a tree (who hides in a tree?). Woman was ruled out as my possible-wife immediately, on account of her liking animals. The woman is very quiet, how long has she been away from civilization with only a bear to converse with? Man is cold, pragmatic survivor (borderline psychopath).I get the feeling that whereas the woman has seen little to none of humanity, this man has seen far too much. Oh some orphan boy too, creepy, might grow on me. I asked him where he came from but the lad didn’t even know his name. The last human contact I remember having was decades ago. They’ve got shreds. They could use someone to look out for them and I could use someone to talk to
Found a depressing building that stunk of grease and oil. Mercury creeps over as I watch his back. That stunning setting sun sure does take me back.
I remember a similar outing with my old friends, Victor Vladquest, Grokthrakk: Barbarian king of Seattle, Brewnuar BulletHaver, and V.R.
Victor and I had gone in to a similar building get a document. Inside the Horsemen Initiate caved after, a short roughing-up, but we got a slip of paper instead of a collection of maps, which wasn’t how I remembered this memory.
“He doesn’t have shred. You do it, hokay?” Victor’s accent was thick.
My vision swimming I squeeze the trigger of my handgun in the Horseman's general direction.
Opening my eyes I see I have missed both times.
Victor draws a knife across the helpless man's throat.
"Don't waste bullets", he chides.
Victor later lies and says that I killed the Horseman. I cannot decide if he is trying to protect me from the horror of killing a man or just stockpiling dirt to control me. Either way, with the kill I should be in, a full-fledged member.
We were huddled in a Wal-mart when V.R. explained it to me.
“There were those left in this world with a shred and those without. The Horsemen’s ideology is the annihilation of mankind. The murder of every individual left. I’ve talked to one, he said that the world is doomed and that he might as well be on the winning side, that he was the fire of Ragnarokk, that life didn’t matter. So I killed him right there. To protect everyone he would ever meet again.”
I was beginning question this gang I had hitched my wagon to.
“They have each professed plans to become professional purveyors of genocide for no better reason then the want to. The feeling. I have seen so many die for nothing.”
He had known I had never killed a man and had picked that man to be my first, unarmed and convenient, to get me ready for more gray areas. I heard V.R. came from Emerald City. He projected authority, competence, and morality, but I had overheard him calling individuals “NPC’s” and Horsemen “XP”. This man living in a fantasy world was leading us through these wastes.
“We can’t save every tree”, V.R.’s eyes radiated conviction. “We are tasked with saving the forest. You proved yourself capable today. Will you help me save the world?”
When it’s put to you like that, how can you say no?
I later found that “shred” meant, “shred of human decency”. These were the ones we were saving. The rest? V.R. said you can’t make a cake without breaking a few eggs.
All this thought of cake was making me hungry. Famished, I found myself out of sorts and someplace new. Mercury Steele had been talking to me for a while. The gist was “go in first.” I noticed my scythe was drenched in blood. Mercury said it had “come like that.” Was he protecting me from the mental trauma from inadvertently killing a man – a la “The Wolfman” – or just trying to use me? Truth be told I liked him either way. These were my friends, even if they might not think of me that way.
I was the most expendable. The depression from having killed again weighed heavy and I was already making a bee-line toward death when Mercury reminded me that my wife could be in there.
My Wife.
The whole reason I wandered this hellscape for god-knows how long.
In the back, in some offices, I witnessed the hideous face of death. It was covered in saggy folds that couldn’t be skin, with eyes were akin to those of a potato; was dressed in something even a clown wouldn’t be seen in public in. Its hair was untidy at best. I had hoped this was my wife? It saw me. I had been afraid my wife had moved on, or was dead, or was entirely fictitious. Nothing I had imagined was as bad as this. It started croaking out in Pig-Latin or whatever mutants speak.
Too much adventure for one day. I fled.
But the thing started running after me, but the horrible call fell on deaf ears. All of us left together. With friends like these, I could cry, and I do, quietly at night so they don’t think less of me. I’m a father figure now (again?).
I check my trousers and beware Cephalis a little before going to bed.